Earning My Mark
by IWantYouInMyLife
Summary: When blackness overcame her senses, Hermione knew she had failed. It was game over. However, while she had never been sure of what to expect of the other side, a twenty-years-in-the-past Hogwarts surely hadn't been it. Now, with the chance to change the future, Hermione must choose her moves carefully while trying to avoid the one she wishes to see the most.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I can almost hear you all screaming at me for starting another story when I have yet to update the ones I already have going on. What can I say? The plot bunny is a disgusting motherfucker who won't leave me the hell alone.**

 **Warning: This story will be about time-travel. If that's not your thing, leave now.**

 **Disclaimer: I'm not the owner of anything. Unfortunately.**

* * *

 _Preface_

Hermione ran.

She ran, trying to stay sharp as she raced towards the pull in her chest, which only intensified the closer she came to her other half. She tried to ignore the pain, knowing a second of neglect could change everything. Hermione couldn't die, not yet. Not while he needed her still.

She dodged the spells crossing her path, running in a zigzag motion as much as she could. The red, blue and green hexes came from every side, forming a deadly labyrinth in front of her. The layers of protective spells she had around herself wouldn't hold against most of the dark magic the Death Eaters were throwing around, so her only choice was to pray nobody attacked her from behind.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Neville fighting against Dolohov, a look of determination in his face despite the blood seeping from a large wound in his shoulder. Hermione threw a tripping spell their way, wishing she could do more for her fellow Gryffindor friend, but not entirely able to stop running. When she saw the yellow spell hitting Dolohov directly in the legs, she smiled. Neville would take over from there.

Her happiness was short-lived, however, because a masked Death Eater sent the unmistakable green light of the killing curse her way, forcing her to roll to the floor in order to avoid the torturous grasp of death. Hermione couldn't die, she was needed somewhere else. The tugging was nearly unbearable at that point, which made a cold sweat break from the forehead. He needed her, now. She needed to dispose of the distraction as quickly as possible.

So she did something that would be impossible to justify later on: she allowed the anger coursing through her body; the fear of losing him before she could ever reach where he was; the anxiety numbing most of her rational thoughts, to overcome her sense of rightness and justice. Hermione raised her wand and opened her mouth only enough to hiss out the killing curse. Unlike herself, her opponent never had the chance to dodge the spell. It hit him right in the stomach, sending him down straight away.

Hermione moved. There was no time to think about what she had done. Her body only had space for the need to reach him. She was getting close — any minute now she would cross paths with him. Her eyes frantically searched for the familiar figure in the mess of bodies surrounding her. It was a horrible mess all around the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts, with dead bodies fallen on the ground, blood smearing every surface available and, worst of all, the macabre symphony of war echoing nonstop. With her heightened sense of hearing, it was possible to hear every hiss, every moan, every scream, and every bone-crushing yell.

Finally, Hermione saw him, fighting against three opponents at the same time, and although he seemed to be holding his own sufficiently well, they would only need a moment of distraction to end the dance. She couldn't allow that. She pushed her body forward faster, trying to ignore the burning in her legs and the heavy breathing. It would all be worthy to save his life.

It was a mistake, however. Her proximity caused the tugging to cease immediately and he sensed the lost. He would know what that meant and, like the infuriating protective man he was, make him turn to see where she was. He screamed:

"RUN, HERMIONE!"

"NO!" She screamed in return, not in response to his demand but in fear when she saw the Death Eater seize the opportunity to hex his back. She sent a _protego_ at the same time, praying to all the deities she never believed in her life to save the man she loved.

His eyes met hers seconds before the green light hit his back, sending Remus falling to the floor. Her shield was a fraction of a second too late. She had been too late. His dead body hit the floor and the mark on her neck began to burn like a wildfire cursing inside her body. It was unbearable.

He was dead. Dead.

Her knees buckled and Hermione slumped to the floor, her hands raising to press on the burning mark. Her vision began to blacken and she lost any awareness of her surroundings. Her body was on fire and she surrendered to it gladly.

The last words on her lips were a scream of his name before it all went black and Hermione Granger was no more.


	2. Real Hallucinations

**Author's Note: It's back to the past now, kids. Let's see what Hermione gets up to when thrown back into the past with precious information, shall we?**

 **Disclaimer: I'm not the owner of anything, even though sometimes I dream of being.**

* * *

"Urgh," Hermione groaned, opening her eyes. Her head hurt, her neck was stiff, and her mark burned ever so slightly.

The clarity hurt her eyes causing them to begin to well up, making her wince. Where was she? She was lying on a bed, but couldn't feel her wand in its usual place in her pocket. Was she being held captive?

Hermione lifted her upper body, trying to see exactly where she was, only to face two individuals standing in front of her bed, looking directly at her. A woman and a man. Hermione knew them both, of course. However, something was clearly wrong, because the man shouldn't be there at all.

Standing in front of her was a dead man. Albus Dumbledore wasn't alive — couldn't be alive. Hermione had seen Harry's memories, had helped to bury the man. How could he be standing there, next to Poppy, calmly staring at her?

Why was she in the infirmary?

Was she hallucinating?

"Are you alright, child?" Poppy asked, coming closer and running her wand over Hermione's body while she cast some diagnostic spells.

"What's happening?" She wondered aloud, surprising herself with the raspiness of her voice.

"Hagrid, our groundkeeper, found you passed out on the forbidden forest," The woman said, frowning at the results of her spells. "You were hurt and very dirty. I've healed you, but some soreness and aching are expected after the severe trauma your body suffered."

She explained who Hagrid was as if Hermione wasn't aware of the giant; as if she wasn't a friend of the man. Dumbledore — or whoever was disguising as the man — still hadn't approached or said anything either. If was all very confusing. Hermione felt a nagging feeling she should be remembering some urgent information, but nothing came to mind.

She turned to face the Matron, perhaps to ask what was going on, but the second she did shock kept her from doing anything other than stare at the woman in front of her. Poppy looked younger, much younger. Witches and wizards aged much slower than muggles, so for her to be significantly younger as she was, meant one of two things: either Hermione died and went to some weird heaven or… she was no longer in 1998.

"What's the date?" She asked, trying not to sound as if the air was being sucked out of her.

"November 3rd," Dumbledore finally spoke, pausing for a second before adding. "1977."

There was no way the shock wasn't stamped on her face. There was no way she could've traveled so many years in the past without planning it. Even if she had used a time-turner — which she hadn't — it would be impossible to go over twenty years back.

Nineteen seventy-seven. Hermione hadn't been born yet, and neither had any of her friends. Molly and Arthur were alive, though. Kingsley, Minerva, Severus, James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius… they were all alive as well, probably in Hogwarts now. There was a name she was forgetting, someone essential she needed to remember.

Her mark burned hotter at the thought and Hermione unconsciously raised her hand to it. The second her fingers touched the teeth marks on her skin the name popped into her mind like a slap in the face. _Remus._ She gasped, felling a hole beginning to open in her stomach as she thought of her soulmate.

He was dead. She watched him die at the hands of Death Eaters. How could have she forgotten him even for a couple of minutes? How would she live now that he was no longer by her side?

Her breaths came quicker, trying to fill the void inside her with oxygen. Hermione could hear people talking to her — touching her — but couldn't understand the commands being spoken. It all sounded so distant — as if the words came from a malfunctioning cell phone. Remus was dead, that's all that mattered.

It was all too much. Hermione gasped for breath one more time before succumbing to the welcoming darkness.

* * *

When Hermione woke up again, Poppy was nowhere to be seen, but Dumbledore was once again at the foot of her bed, gazing at her as if she was a puzzle he needed to crack.

"What happened?" She asked, trying to remember what happened earlier.

"You passed out, my girl," The headmaster explained, stepping closer to her. "Poppy said you had a panic attack."

Yes, thinking about him — Hermione remembered now. She also remembered the date: 1977. Hermione realized how much information she had and all the different decisions she could make with those. Messing with timelines was a dangerous thing, and a whole lot could go horribly wrong... but the possibilities. She had no idea if Harry had killed Voldemort — there was no way of knowing if they had won the fight.

Too many good people had died. The truth was that even if they had won the fight, the number of irreplaceable people who had no longer been alive at the time Hermione could recall was far too high. If she could change it — if she could save those she considered to be family — then no price was excessively high.

"I need to have a private conversation with you, sir, right now," She spoke, trying to express how urgent the news she had to give was. "It cannot be here, though."

His expression was a curious one. Perhaps he had already tried to look into her head and failed, or perhaps he wasn't used to a mysterious girl appearing out of nowhere in his school.

"As you wish," He nodded. "Come to my office."

Hermione hesitantly got up from her bed, trying to steady her body while her brain pounded inside her head. When she raised her gaze, Dumbledore was standing there, waiting for her to gather her wits. Once she did so, he didn't turn towards the door but instead went into the direction of where Hermione knew Poppy's office was located. There, in the once solid stone wall, a dark wood door suddenly appeared, as if he had conjured it from the air with no apparent movement.

The headmaster opened the door gently, allowing Hermione to enter first. The place she accessed was a familiar one. His office was exactly the same, not one chair out of place. Even Fawkes was there, perched on his wooden stand — still majestic as ever. Somehow it was a comfort to know that while she may have traveled so many years into the past, some things remained the same no matter what.

Hermione didn't bother with the chairs around her. The seriousness of what she was about to do gnawed at her insides, leaving her a pile of nerves — there was no way she'd able to stay put, she needed to pace around.

"My name is Hermione Jean Granger, sir," She began, not waiting for him to ask anything. "And I know you, already, although you haven't met me yet. I was born in 1979, and before I woke up in the infirmary I was in 1998, fighting a very important battle."

Hermione could see why Dumbledore was a leader, why people followed his plans and commands. His whole body exuded power. His expression was sharp and the pressure she felt on her mind was strong enough to demand an immediate attention to it.

"I plan to show you all I need to confirm my story, sir. I don't know how I ended up in the past, but I won't waste the opportunity to save the lives I can. However, I need you to promise me — with a vow — that you won't use the information I have for other purposes. Some of the knowledge I have is much too dangerous."

"How will I know if you are who you say you are?" He asked. "You could be a spy."

"I see," She agreed, raising her hand. "I'll allow you in, then. I'll still need that vow after it, sir."

The threat in her voice surprised even herself. Hermione had never been anything other than polite to the headmaster in her own time, so the venom in her voice took her by surprise. The intelligence she had was simply too precious to gamble with, Hermione realized, and she would protect it against anyone, even the headmaster if it came to it.

The man didn't acknowledge the treat, but nodded in agreement to her words before meeting her eyes and invading her mind, knocking down her mind shields like a blast knocking down leaves. Hermione, in return, made no effort to hinder his progress or keep anything private. She would need a confident and an enabler if planned to change things as much as she did. Dumbledore would only trust her if he saw everything: all the mistakes he made, all the deaths, all the sacrifice.

Hermione didn't know if Harry had killed Voldemort in her timeline, so she couldn't tell whether they had been victorious in the end or not, but the damage had been too great regardless. The countless lives their side lost was preventable, and Hermione would be damned if she wasn't going to interfere all over the place.

She felt Dumbledore watching all her memories with care, first making sure she was who she claimed to be and then going over every event from the war she had witnessed or heard about. She saw Harry Potter on the train in their first year, too skinny and oblivious; she saw their following years and the threats Voldemort posed; she saw Severus as the spy; she saw Sirius dying; she saw Albus' own death at the hands of his spy; she saw the hunt for the Horcruxes; and finally, she saw the final battle.

When Dumbledore saw Remus and her reaction, he followed the tread of thought, carrying him to the beginning of their mateship. Of all she had been forced to see again, the thought of Remus hurt the most. Trapped in her own thoughts she could do little else than to bear as the headmaster watched her intimate moments with the man she loved.

Finally, once Dumbledore was satisfied he had seen all he could from her mind, he withdrew gently, trying to cause as little discomfort as he could.

"And what do you propose we change?" He asked, leaning back in the chair and resting his head.

He sounded tired after seeing her memories, as though they drained all the energy the man had. Hermione knew firsthand how exhausting the war could be, so she sympathized with Dumbledore. It must not be easy for him to have such memories displayed in his head with no warning beforehand.

"Everything," Hermione answered, already picturing several possibilities in her mind. "Riddle is not nearly as powerful now as he will be in the future, so our best chance is to strike as soon as possible. He hasn't split his soul in seven yet, so there are fewer Horcruxes to search, and I know where all of them are placed. It shouldn't be too difficult to destroy them and kill him."

"So that's what you propose we do? Kill him as soon as possible and be done with it," Dumbledore questioned, looking at her sharply.

"Are you kidding me? Yes, of course. That's what we must do — you've seen the consequences if he's allowed to live. This isn't the moment for sentimentalism — Riddle has to die."

"Peace, my girl. I simply wished to understand your reasoning's, I'm not trying to suggest otherwise," He explained, raising his hands in surrender. "Tom was my student, as you know… to know… to have my suspicions of him confirmed only serves to cement my belief that I should've done more for him. In a way, the path he has chosen to trail is due to a lot of negligence."

Hermione tried to breathe calmly, holding down her own thoughts of Riddle. She had been in a fight not many hours ago, trying to stay alive and keep those she knew save — it was hard to hear someone defending him or trying to explain his personal motives. She knew he had been a kid once, with fears and doubts, but it didn't justify the horrible acts he committed or had others commit in his name. The hundreds of lives he reaped…

"You saw…" She began, overwhelmed by the feelings inside her.

"I did," Dumbledore agreed, pouring a cup of tea and sliding it towards her gently. "Fear not, I did see all you had to show me. Moreover, I happen to agree with your assessment, it would be better to prevent certain events from ever happening, but we must consider all aspects before acting. The prophecy…"

"Won't ever exist if we kill Riddle beforehand, so it shouldn't be a problem. The Potter's get to live and Harry gets to have his parents," Hermione stated, feeling a warmth at the thought. She loved Harry like a brother. Saving his parents and giving him the childhood he deserved would be her present to him — a way to thank him for all he had done for her.

"Where do you plan on staying while all this unravels, my girl," The headmaster questioned, looking quite lost in his own thoughts.

"Stay? I plan on looking for the Horcruxes and killing Riddle. There's much to do, I won't have the time to settle in one place."

He smiled lightly, opening a lemon drop and popping it into his mouth before saying: "My dear, things won't be done as fast as you imagine. We'll have to start the Order sooner than planned and prepare for the attacks to come. Even if you do kill Tom, there's still his followers to consider. You can't go alone on your adventures, either. All must be carefully planned before we act."

"We don't know why or how you traveled so far back into the past, but we must assume it has to do with the war and Tom. This is the opportunity to do things differently, so we must not hurry without care. You never finished your education, did you, my dear?"

Was the old man implying what she thought he was?

"I did not," she said. "But you can't possibly wish for me to worry about N.E.W.T.s when I know all there is to be done outside the protected walls of Hogwarts. Not only that, but there's the matter of my mark, as you very well know. If I sit in classes with Remus, he'll immediately notice that I smell like him."

The infuriating man only hummed in agreement before asking: "But don't you wish to form ties with your beloved in this timeline, Hermione? For all we know, you are trapped here with no way to return to your own time. Would you deny him the chance of knowing his partner?"

She sucked in a breath, trying to still her thundering heart. She hated him for asking her questions when he knew the answers to them. Of course, she wanted nothing more than to drop everything and run to Remus, how dare he act as if she wished to deny him anything? Even now, her still warm mark acted as a constant reminder of the one she loved.

Remus was more than her partner, as Dumbledore very well knew. Her body ached for him. Every moment Hermione tried to focus on the chance to change the horrible events to come, it was all she could do not to crumble in a pile of sadness and weep for the death she had witnessed. She was grieving for the man she knew and loved, for she would never see him again. He was dead. All the moments they shared, all they shared existed only in her memory now. At the same time, she was vibrating with excitement at the chance to see him again — even if he was young and unaware of her existence — and reassure herself that he breathed and lived still.

It was a confusing ball of emotions that demanded all of Hermione's effort to control, and Dumbledore dared ask if she wished to see him… to form ties.

"You know the risk of me having any contact with Remus right now," She forced the words out, pointing out the reason she knew would keep her away from the person she longed for the most. "I cannot lie to him — literally cannot. Even if I find a way to cover his scent on me — which I do not wish to — then I would have to keep my distance as much as possible."

"You never know, my girl," Dumbledore said, smiling at her in his infuriating way. "Fate has a curious way of working, and soulmates like yourselves cannot be denied. But, alas, I see you are in need of rest. I apologize - in my heist to find all the information you had to share I neglected to notice how tired you are and how long your day has been. Poppy would, most certainly, be very angry at my carelessness. Let's find you a room for the night and regroup tomorrow to discuss our moves, shall we?"

Hermione didn't argue, she couldn't. The mention of Remus emptied her of all fight. She needed sleep and food; she needed to bathe and cry; she needed to rest and to think. Tomorrow she would deal with the war; tomorrow she would deal with the problems.

So she left, but not before getting the vow from Dumbledore. Some things were too precious to risk, and the future was one of those things.

* * *

 **AN2: Reviews are greatly appreciated.** _*wink*_


	3. Playing Dumb

**Author's Note: I know it took me forever to upload a new chapter, guys. But I cannot** — **will not** — **promise a regular update for this story, 'cause I'm putting the chapters up as I write them, so it all depends on how long it takes me to write things down. Please bear with me, okay? I'm trying.**

 **Thank you so much for all the nice comments and reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: Things I also do not own: Disneyland and a healthy social life.**

* * *

" _SLYTHERIN!_ "

The scream ran across the entire hall, making even those who had been previously ignoring her sorting raise their heads in her direction. Hermione closed her eyes for a second, feeling the hat being taken out of her head. Of course it would be Slytherin; she hadn't gone to the sorting unprepared, but it still shocked some deep part of her — the one who would always remain a Gryffindor.

She had a mission — something that was more important than any personal feelings she might have. Destroying Tom Riddle was her number one priority; saving as many as she could during the process was a close second. Nowhere in her list was personal preferences — if anything Hermione had learned the hard way to be practical.

She opened her eyes. Every single student from the snake's pit was looking directly at her — judging her worth. None of them moved. Hermione could feel their judgmental stare as she rose from the stool and made her way to the very end of the table, where the first years sat. It didn't bother her to be snubbed by children. Hermione was playing her part, acting like a Hogwarts student once more, but after the months on the run — after the battle — that place no longer made her feel the wonder and excitement it once did when she, herself, was a child. Now she could only see it as the battlefield it could possibly become in the future if she didn't play her cards right.

The decision to join Slytherin had been Albus'. He was the one who believed she needed to play the schoolgirl in order to make connections with the possible Death Eaters. Hermione had agreed, against her will. While she understood that it was highly unfair to hold these kids responsible for the acts that they will commit in the future, nothing could stop her from picturing the adults they had become when she saw their faces. It was automatic, instantaneous. While being sorted, Hermione had already seen some familiar faces: Malfoy, Dolohov, Lestrange, Avery...

The thought of sharing a dormitory with some of those people scared the crap out of Hermione. Not because she was afraid of them, but because she would never be able to let her guard down. Hermione was stuck with people who would haunt her nightmares every night — the chances of having a good night sleep in any near future were slim to none. She already began to plan how she could hide the tracks and run to sleep in the Requirement Room.

"That's James Potter," some kid sitting next to her said to another student. "Who doesn't know him? He's the seeker for Gryffindor."

The comment made her lift her head from her plate, something Hermione had been carefully avoiding 'till that moment. She didn't want to face what was waiting for her at the other end of the room. Not yet. Not while there was a real chance that she would begin to cry at the sight of him. But her treacherous mind betrayed her the second her head was no longer buried down — her eyes bypassed every student in front of her to narrow down at the group of loud seventh years sitting at the middle of Gryffindor table. There they were. Sitting with their back facing her was James Potter and Sirius Black — and the sight of them was already enough to bring a tightening in her chest, but she kept going, like a damn masochist — and sitting in front of them was the rat.

Peter Pettigrew.

Hermione had been so wrapped up in her machinations against Riddle that he had slipped her mind. Not anymore, though. The rat had to die. She would make sure Peter didn't survive past the end of the year — it would be her present to her mate.

Remus.

Remus was sitting right there. Alive. Young. _Alive._

He had his nose stuck in a book, but Hermione would recognize that profile anywhere. Seeing him froze her. Hermione wanted to look away but couldn't even if her very life depended on it. Remus was there, eating a piece of pie absentmindedly while he read whatever he had in his hands. Hermione wanted nothing more than to abandon her place and run towards him — just to hold him, to make sure he was really there.

But she couldn't. Obviously. Remus didn't know her yet — wouldn't know her for a long time. If she did run, all she would receive would be strange stares and a label of being crazy.

The scar on her neck, carefully hidden by a powerful glamour, felt cold under her fingers. Thankfully she could still feel it — that, at least, hadn't been lost. That connection was still there, even if she was the only who could see or touch it.

She looked at the headmaster, finding his gaze to already be on her. Hermione tried to convey with a simple look how much she was unprepared to follow through with the mission he had so quickly dropped onto her shoulders. It was impossible, unbearable. She could accept — or at least try — that she was stranded in a different decade, with no friends to speak of and the terrible burden of ridding the world of Tom Riddle; she couldn't, however, deal with having to face what she lost every day of her life knowing there was nothing she could do about it. No one deserved such a hellish sentence — not even her.

Remus had been the love of a lifetime. Her mate, her other half. She had loved the first strand of hair in his head to the end of his toe fingernail — not one bit of him was any different than what Hermione would have wanted. Being with him had felt like nothing she could ever describe. Even the weight of the war hadn't been enough to taint the brightness and pureness of what they shared.

The moment of his death had ripped all that from her, in a single moment — a cursed spell. Hermione had to deal with losing Remus and all that he represented to her: a chance at love, at a future, at happiness. She lost the man she loved, words would never be sufficient to express her pain.

Hermione could try to deal with that, could perhaps keep on breathing even though every particle of air felt like fire on her veins. But seeing him every day? Watching him from afar, knowing he was Remus, but not her Remus? Passing through the hallways and having to witness his happiness and pain without participating or helping? Hearing his voice and knowing it would never be directed at her again? No, that would be the type of torture that Hermione could not bear.

She tried to transmit all that with a single look of desperation and despair. He had to see how much he asked of her. The process of masking her scent — of rubbing a disgusting potion all over her body — was a travesty. Hermione felt violated — and worst, felt she was betraying her mate by purposely tricking him.

The response look Dumbledore threw in her direction was one of pity and understanding, but not of acceptance. Hermione wouldn't be released of her promise even in the face of her internal despair. She would just have to suck it up and pretend to be alright.

Hermione had once believed to have already laid all down for the Order — her body and her effort. Now, though, she felt another layer of pain settling so much deeper and vast than before. She was ready to give literally everything she had and was.

Hermione would make sure that Riddle was dead, she would destroy the very idea he represented, she would devote it all to the cause. But after it was all said and done, what would be left in the new world for her?

* * *

A paper was placed in front of her with her timetable for the year, and Hermione had to suppress a groan at the sight. Hermione had loved school — both magical and muggle — but even during her first time and with her friends it had been a little annoying having to sit and listen to subjects she had long mastered. And while it had served as a place to correct her misinterpretations, Hermione had already done so. She had learned what she needed and had far surpassed the curriculum in her researches during the Horcrux hunt. Being forced to sit through those lessons once more was slightly vexing — especially knowing how much there was to be done outside of Hogwarts walls.

Hermione had to remember herself that she had, indeed, agreed to play the part for the year, so she would just have to suck it up and pretend to be ignorant to the subjects at hand. It wouldn't do to call too much attention; she needed to blend in and try to make friendships — and from personal experience, Hermione knew that very few people wanted to befriend a know-it-all.

So, pushing down all her personal feelings, she rose from the table and abandoned the half-eaten plate of food behind as she made her way to her first class of the day. Double potions with Hufflepuff. Some part of her began to question how different it would be to be taught by someone else other than Snape — it was weird, but Hermione almost felt sad for his absence.

The absence of her Snape — the one from her time. It was so strange to be mourning people who, technically, were still alive and around her.

Suddenly Hermione halted in the middle of a stairway and wondered if she should've asked for help to get to her classroom. She was supposed to be a newcomer in Hogwarts and perhaps knowing her way to the dungeons would attract some unwanted attention. At the same time, she didn't particularly want to ask for help — she just wanted to get through the day without exposing herself or bursting into tears in front of Remus. Those were her goals: maintain her cover and ignore her mate's presence.

Her dilemma was solved when the stairway moved to the left, forcing Hermione to hold the rail in order to stay upright. Instead of leading her to the dungeons, now she was being directed towards the third floor. And while Hermione could very well explore her knowledge of the castle to go through some shortcuts, going the long way suited her just fine. She would get there only a few minutes late and pretend she had gotten lost searching for the right place.

Ignoring the students running past her in their rush to get to their classes in time, Hermione walked slowly towards the dungeons, making sure to look somewhat lost and in awe of her surroundings. It was unlikely that any of her classmates were so far away from their classroom, but gossip traveled fast in Hogwarts and so it was better to play it safe.

* * *

Internally, Hermione began to count down all the tasks she had to do while at Hogwarts.

1 – She needed to go to the Room of Requirement and fetch the diadem. Albus had promised to go after the Horcruxes outside of the castle, so it was only fair that she did such a relatively small task. Some fiendfyre should be enough to destroy it without having to walk around with it in her hands — and unlike Crabble, Hermione actually knew how to control it.

2 – Hermione needed to discover who exactly had already been marked by Riddle in Slytherin and who had yet to be marked but was strongly leaning towards that path. It was important that she tried to sway as many individuals as she could to their side before the fighting began. The fewer people they had to arrest or kill, the better.

3 – She had to befriend Severus Snape. Weird as it would undoubtedly be trying to be friends with her once hated professor, Hermione knew how important it would be to have him fighting for the light and not against it. Potions masters were a rarity among wizards — and Severus was an even greater exception to the rule. It had taken quite a few years to truly appreciate the brilliance of the man, but now Hermione was deeply aware of the man's role in the fight against Riddle.

It wasn't the most daunting list Hermione had ever faced — truth be told — but it was still enough to make her shudder at the thought. Breaking Severus' walls would be an uphill climb — that was for sure.

Hermione entered the Snake's Pit, fighting the feeling of weirdness that threatened to overwhelm her — trying to remind herself that she was a snake now. The whole place was much darker and uninviting than the Gryffindor's common room had been, all wet stones and posh chairs by the fire. The students were all quiet or speaking in hushed whispers, another glaring difference from her original house, although a welcome one. Some turned to face her when the door opened, glaring when they saw whom it was. So, apparently, Hermione wasn't going to get the warm welcoming she desperately wanted but knew better than to expect.

She was in the house of the cunning now; it wouldn't do to forget that piece of information. If she wished to thrive and make acquaintances, Hermione would need to shed the skin of her past and become a new, different version of herself — one who could be manipulative and secretive when the situation called for it. She certainly had the advantage here, with all the knowledge from the future in her hands, but she couldn't afford to be over-confident with her information. The second Hermione showed even the slightest hint of weakness the Slytherin would eat her alive.

No, Hermione would keep her cards close to her chest and pretend to know nothing of the people surrounding her, knowing that having them believe she was just another regular student would work in her advantage in that case. They mustn't see her as competition. Hermione was a new student with doubts and questions — that's who she was now.

She ignored the glares and moved to the back, where a prefect was sitting with some friends. Hermione knew exactly who that student was and a shiver ran down her spine at the sight of him so carefree and young. Antonin Dolohov was a ghost from her past — one of many. Hermione would have preferred to speak to Dana Rosier — and wasn't that just goddamn hilarious —, the female prefect of their year, but she was nowhere to be seen and Hermione needed to find her room.

Pushing her emotions to the side, she walked up to him and presented herself with as much confidence as she could. Hermione would seize the opportunity to see how they acted.

"Good evening, I'm sorry to disturb your conversation, but I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to show me to the girl's dormitory," she spoke, struggling to maintain eye contact.

Dolohov didn't seem inclined to respond in any manner whatsoever. In fact, he held her gaze with ease, his black eyes shining with contempt for her. Why he had been made prefect she would never know because he seemed way more inclined to curse the students surrounding him than moving a single finger to help any of them. Even years younger he still carried that same air of superiority that never failed to raise Hermione's hackles.

"Look, Dolohov," A blond guy sitting next to him spoke with a sneer. "A newbie. How quaint."

"It's the second opening to your left, going down the stairs," Another Slytherin said, rather mechanically to her left, not raising his head from a large tome and ignoring the mocking of his colleagues. His long black hair covered his face, which made it impossible for Hermione to decipher who he was.

It didn't matter; Hermione was grateful. She politely thanked him while ignoring the rest of the group in an effort to avoid cursing anyone herself.

The journey to the dormitory was short. It wasn't difficult to find and perhaps if she had searched for it on her own she would've done just fine without needing to see Dolohov's horrific face.

Seeing a bed with a new trunk at its foot, Hermione quickly deduced that it was her new space and dropped her weight on top of it.

Lying on her new bed, Hermione tried to breathe past the panic threatening to overcome her. Nighttime was the worst time of the day, especially if she was alone. There, without anything or anyone to distract her, her mind was free to bring up scenes she would much rather forget.

Being around faces of her past made it all worst. Her scars felt so much more exposed than ever before, even though her entire body was covered by the same heavy glamour placed on her neck — there was simply too much to hide. Dolohov, Bellatrix, Lestrange, Malfoy... the years hadn't been kind to her body.

* * *

 **Don't** **forget to leave your thoughts. Xoxo.**


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